


Mystery of Moods

by TwisterMelody



Series: Child of Baker Street [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family, Fluff, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwisterMelody/pseuds/TwisterMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For one year old Hamish, it's just another normal day... Until he can't find his Dad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mystery of Moods

The room was bright, and the floor beneath him was warm on his bare feet. To Hamish, the day had been perfect. Well, almost perfect.  
  
His Papa had gotten him up earlier in the day and gave him some yummy toast and a banana for breakfast. They played together all morning in the living room. They had pushed his little buggy around while collecting different stuffed animals in it, made music with his guitar, and even went on a chase through the main floor. They were having so much fun, and everything was great, except he couldn't find his Dad.  
  
It was usual his Papa be there while his Dad left for a while, or vice versa, but they always told him goodbye when they did, always parting with hugs and kisses. He hadn't seen his Dad all day. Where was he?  
  
He had seen his Papa frown a lot that morning. He didn't know what the look meant, exactly, but knew it appeared when people were sad. In the middle of playing, he would look down the hallway for a moment, frowning. When they paused, he would walk to the closed bedroom door to his and his Dad's room, staring at it like he was trying to figure something out. And he would frown some more before smiling when he came back to him. He didn't know why the door would make someone sad, but he wanted to figure it out. His Dad was good at figuring things out, but until he could find him, he would have to be the one to do it.  
  
He stood at the refrigerator while his Papa puttered around the kitchen, talking aloud while warming up their lunch. Hamish rearranged the colorful magnets to his liking, trying his best not to let one slip out of his fingers and clatter to the floor. He looked for a second and noticed his Papa watching the toaster oven. He had a plan to sneak away, and he took his opportunity.   
  
He padded down the hall, his little feet barely making a sound as he went. He nearly tripped over his trousers, but he caught himself just in time. Really, he was becoming an expert at this whole walking thing. Decidedly much better than crawling. The light was dim in the hall. As he reached the door, he didn't see anything wrong with it. It looked normal! Not scary at all or anything! So why -  
  
"Time for lunch," his Papa said happily as he snatched him up.  
  
He was sat down in his high chair and he wriggled around, distracted from his quest, searching for the food to match the familiar aroma in the air.  
  
"Leftover casserole," his Papa said as he sat down the small plate of food in front of him.  
  
Hamish smiled. He loved that stuff! Before he knew it, a hand in front of him had a spoonful of food, and he quickly ate it down, suddenly realizing his tummy was growling.  
  
"Good?"  
  
He opened his mouth, waiting for more, and his Papa chuckled at him. Trying to think of where his Dad could be, he had no idea. Just yesterday he didn't know where his blanket was. He looked and looked and couldn't find it. He was told it was lost. Was his Dad lost, too?  
  
After he finished his lunch, he was brought to the living room sofa. He heard footsteps on the stairs, so he quickly slid off the sofa and toddled over to the gated doorway to see, grinning and squealing when he saw who it was.  
  
"Greg!"  
  
"Hello," the silver haired man answered as his long legs stepped over the gate. Hamish was confused about his name because everyone called him different things. He didn't mind, though. The man was nice to him, always made him laugh, and sometimes he even brought him presents! Hamish liked him a lot. "Hello, Hamish!" he said, bending down briefly to ruffle through his hair. "Where's Sherlock?"  
  
Hamish looked up at the man, recognizing his Dad's other name. Maybe he knew!  
  
"I've been calling and texting him all day," the man said, "but no answer. We could really use some help on this case."  
  
"Kay?" Hamish asked.  
  
The man smiled at him. "That's right," he said, crouching down to his level. "Do you think you can help us?"  
  
Hamish scrunched up his nose, causing him to laugh.  
  
His Papa spoke quietly, which he only did when he thought he was asleep. It felt wrong. "He's ah... He's in one of his black moods," he told him, his face downcast.  
  
The nice man with the silver hair frowned, happiness disappearing from his face. "Really? But he hasn't fallen into one of his moods since before..." he trailed off, his hand gesturing down to Hamish.  
  
"I know," his Papa said softly as he looked at the man. "That's why I'm worried."  
  
"Do you think -"  
  
"I don't know." His Papa's eyes flicked over to the door again worryingly. After a moment of hesitation, he turned and walked down the hall to the door, opening it slightly and poking his head in. "Sherlock?" he heard him ask.  
  
Dad! That's where he was, of course! Maybe the door had made his Papa sad because his Dad was hiding behind it! Hamish tried to run down the hall to get to him, but the floor abruptly vanished beneath his feet. The man with the silver hair turned him around in his arms as his Papa spoke quietly at the end of the hall.  
  
"No no," the man told him, "you mustn't bother your Dad when he's in this mood. Just let him be, okay?"  
  
Hamish knitted his eyebrows together in confusion.  
  
"No," he heard his Papa say from behind, causing him to turn his head. "No such luck," he said quietly. And there it was, that sad look on his face again. Oh, that wasn't good at all.  
  
The man gently lowered him back to the floor. "Alright, then," he said with a sigh. "Let me know if you need anything,  yeah?"  
  
Hamish took his opportunity as soon as he saw it, bolting down the hallway to the door again. He heard them say their goodbyes as he reached it, and footsteps coming towards him. Before he could attempt to open it, he was swooped up again, but by his Papa this time.   
  
"Come on, time for a nap," he told him.  
  
Nap? He wasn't even...  
  
"Sleepy?" he was asked as a yawn escaped, betraying him.  
  
His Papa laid him down on the sofa. He had questions he couldn't voice. What was a mood and why did everyone look so sad about it? He understood what 'no' meant, but why would 'no' ever be associated with 'Dad'? Did he do something wrong? Surely he didn't, he hadn't even made a mess all day! He fussed, tossing and turning, unable to grasp on to the sleep he didn't necessarily want. Eventually, he flopped over onto his tummy, and his Papa rubbed his back in soothing circles, talking softly until he drifted off to sleep.

When Hamish awoke, he knew he must not have slept too long, he still felt tired. He pulled himself into a sitting position and looked around, only his Papa was nowhere to be seen. This was his chance! After yawning and finding his balance on two tired legs, he carefully made his way down the hall to the door again. He pressed his palms flatly against the wood and pushed, but it wouldn't budge. It was closed shut, and he looked up, realizing he was much too short to reach the doorknob. He slapped his palms against the door to make some noise, hoping to get his Dad's attention from the other side, but nothing happened. He almost wanted to cry of frustration, but surely there was another way.  
  
The bathroom! The bathroom door was creaked open just a bit, and Hamish easily pushed it out of the way and walked in through the room. The tile was chilly on his feet, but that didn't matter. In the sunlight drifting down the hall, he could just make out the other door of the bathroom, the one that looked like glass. Luckily, it was open a bit as well, and he swung it open eagerly, stepping into the bedroom.  
  
It was dark and cold, and almost scary. But this was his Dad and Papa's room, surely nothing scary could get in there. Streaks of light cast across the floor and onto the bed. He noticed a lump on the far side of the bed. His Dad! He was in his robe, and curled up into a ball on top of the covers. Hamish could see over the bed, and it looked like his eyes were closed. Was he asleep?  
  
He toddled over to the other side, reaching up to his Dad's form, pushing his hands against him with all his might. There was no sound, no acknowledgement of any kind. He wanted to slap his palms against his back to get his attention, but his Papa had told him a long time ago he mustn't hit anyone, as it wasn't nice. So, he came up with another plan.  
  
He made his way back around to the other side closest to the doors. The bed was short, and maybe just short enough for him. He had been climbing a lot of things lately, so now was the perfect time to test his skills. He pressed his little body against the side of the bed, grasping the covers as tightly as he could for support. He wriggled around, finally getting one of his feet on the edge of the wooden frame, and then the other. Yes! He reached forward to grab another handful of covers and scrambled up onto the bed, sitting down in victory.  
  
His Dad still hadn't moved, made a sound, or even opened his eyes. He could have worried, but it wasn't too abnormal. Sometimes when his Papa was there and they were working on stuff, he would stop talking and sit there quietly, plucking on his violin as he stared off into space. That is, until, Hamish would get to him, bringing him back to the present. He was told when this happens, his Dad is thinking. The look on his face was different, though. He almost looked sad, too, just like Papa and the man with the silver hair. Maybe that's what a mood was, thinking about things that make you sad. Maybe this time he was thinking too much, and maybe he needed help to bring him out of his thoughts.  
  
His Dad was curled up almost into a ball, so he had to maneuver himself carefully. He pulled and tugged on one of his heavy arms, finally wrenching it free from around his body. His other arm was easier to move, nearly falling away immediately as he pulled on it. Finally! Hamish crawled over and lay down, facing him. He pulled up one of his Dad's long arms, laying it across his own side as he scooted his little body close to his chest, his head resting on his other arm. Hmm, that had no reaction, Dad's eyes still closed, face still frowning. Time for something else! He slid his little palms over his Dad's cheeks, but he still didn't move. As carefully as he could manage, he leaned in, pressing a sweet kiss to the tip of his nose.  
  
Slowly, his Dad's bright eyes fluttered open. They tensed for the briefest second in confusion before softening. There he was! He heard familiar footsteps on the stairs. He knew his Papa would be looking for him, but it was okay. He found his Dad and helped him, solving the mystery of moods, and that's all that mattered.  
  
"Da!" Hamish exclaimed, smiling at him.  
  
The all traces of unhappiness melted away from his face at the word. There was a soft smile tugging at his lips, telling him everything was alright. His Dad pulled his body up into a half sitting position, bringing Hamish with him. Hamish enthusiastically threw his arms around his neck in a tight hug, so happy and proud of what he'd done.  
  
"Da," he said again, quieter this time, content as his Dad's endlessly long arms hugged him back. He heard the bedroom door open, but he didn't need to turn to know who it was.  
  
"There you are," his Papa breathed in relief. The mattress below him shifted, and there was a pause before he spoke again. "You okay?"  
  
"I am now," his Dad answered softly, his deep voice rumbling.  
  
Hamish turned his head to see his Papa wearing the same kind smile as he'd seen on his Dad, directed at both of them. His Papa's hand reached out, playing through Hamish's curls, and Hamish giggled, knowing what he'd done was a good thing. His Dad pressed a kiss to his temple, and Hamish hugged him tighter, so glad to have both of his parents together and happy. That was his idea of perfection.  
  
That day was the last Hamish ever came to know of any black moods, love overtaking anything the shadows threw their way.


End file.
